All Adults Here(69)
“I’ll see you in a few weeks, okay? Astrid, good to see you. Take care of your baby, too, okay?” Dr. McConnell hugged both Porter and Astrid and then vanished into the hallway. Porter could hear her welcome her next patient into an exam room. That was parenting, too, helping so many women (and their partners, she supposed) move from one side of their life to another, to cross this profound barrier. No one Dr. McConnell saw was the same when they were done with her. Rachel had told her that she’d heard that giving birth was the number one reason women became doulas or midwives, that they felt so altered by the experience of pregnancy and childbirth that they were like junkies, loath to leave the cozy, warm zone of uteruses.
When she got into the hallway, Porter expected to see Rachel—Porter would have come, if she’d gotten a text like that, but Rachel wasn’t there. Friendship was as mystifying as love, with none of the rules. Or maybe there were rules, but Porter didn’t know them. She had never been a bridesmaid. That seemed, suddenly, like a shameful admission of failure. Out of all the brides in the world, how had not one of them wanted her by their side? She called, she wrote emails, she sent baby gifts, she made dinner dates. Some people seemed to move through life in herds, surrounded by friends like baby elephants surrounded by their mothers and aunties, protected from life’s dangers. Porter felt—had always felt—like she was alone. Maybe her mother was right, and having this baby was foolhardy, but even Astrid didn’t understand why. Porter wanted to love someone fully, and to have them love her back. She wanted to be so indispensable to someone, to be so important that a casual erasure was impossible. Other people had that with their partners, didn’t they? The legal webbing that made a knot that much harder to untangle? Porter was happy to be tangled up with her baby, their bodies working so hard together, already a team. Was she a good mother or a bad mother? Porter wasn’t sure she believed Dr. McConnell, but she wanted to. I love you, she said, on the inside. I love you I love you I love you.
Porter and Astrid walked slowly back to the elevator.
“You never told me that you had an abortion,” Astrid said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Oh, sure,” Porter said. “I’m sure that would have gone over great. Like, the day after I was Harvest Queen, want to take me to Planned Parenthood? I’m sure you would have been super excited.” She didn’t want to sound like a petulant teenager, but she couldn’t help it.
“It’s not about being excited, Porter.” Astrid stopped walking. “It’s just a big thing to have carried around on your own for so long.”
“Well, you had a secret. I’m not judging your secret. So don’t judge mine. Would you rather that I had had a baby when I was in high school? I’m sure your gardening friends and town council friends and tennis friends would have loved it. Oh, and Dad too. That would have been great, for Dad to have known. It might have killed him even faster!”
“Porter Strick!” Astrid covered her eyes with her hands. “Stop! Stop it.”
A massively pregnant woman waddled down the hallway toward them. She took slow, small steps, and every few steps, she paused to breathe with her eyes closed.
Porter was just about to ask if she needed help when a man with an overnight bag and a breastfeeding pillow tucked under his arm leapt out of the elevator and took her elbow.
“We’re almost there, honey,” he said, and led her down the hall toward labor and delivery.
“Can we just not, please?” Porter said when they were gone, and she pushed the button for the elevator. “And how long have you known about Jeremy?”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “A long time. And to be clear, yes, it is okay to have secrets. Everyone has secrets. We’re human! We don’t like to tell everyone everything. That’s fine, I understand. And we’re not the most effusive family in the world, I know that too. But, Porter—I love you. And you could have told me about it. I would have gotten you hot water bottles. And Vicodin. Whatever you needed.” Astrid reached up for her daughter’s face. At first, Porter resisted and pulled away, but Astrid’s hands refused to let go. Porter let her mother turn her face.
“I love you. I love this baby.” Porter chewed on her lips, a habit that Astrid had always hated. “I’m sorry that I made you feel like you couldn’t tell me.”
Porter nodded. She had thought about telling her parents, but it made as much sense as hiring a skywriting airplane to fly over Clapham and puff the words out in smoke. Who would it have helped?
“I’m sorry,” Astrid said again. She pulled Porter’s face even closer, knocking them both slightly off-balance. Porter wasn’t used to her mother hugging her, and so it took them a few minutes to figure out which arms should go where, but they did it, eventually.
The elevator dinged and its doors shuddered open. Porter and Astrid took a step closer, and all of a sudden, both Porter’s and Astrid’s telephones began to trill and beep.
“What the fuck?” Porter said. “Cell service in this town sucks. Can you not call someone to fix that?” Porter held the phone to her ear and started listening to a string of messages. “Oh shit,” she said. “It’s Cecelia’s school.”
Astrid nodded, pointing to her own phone, also at her ear. “Me too,” she said. “Let’s go. Port, drive to my house, and we’ll go to the school together, okay?”